The road whispers go forward and fast, like light

there were no directions no hints of point or perspective

I followed

into the clouds that kept the sun quiet

the daylight rich and hollow 

skies laid out on my shoulders

its autumn

and I feel winters earnest rush

the season of loss, the silence

stares through both of us

Backroads, the quiet morning, before you wake

but I am gone

and the sun barely touches the earth

and the stone speaks little of histories, only names

backroads, the weight of heaven on the branches and limbs

but I am gone

your door does not recognize the ghost

nor offer any words of excuses or renewal

friendship and love; these words we throw like stones 

mean nothing in a vacuum

mean nothing in their absence

a ghost that sees itself with little purpose

in this realm

backroads, riding silent, alone,

I am happy and yet sad

that you have found your own.....

I am home,

haunted in this field is the feeling that left me

but I am open 

to feel

and the ghosts we love and ache for

are real

I am home,

walked to the lake to be closer to the trees

a ghost  brushed my shoulder

I remember Rusk

I remember sleeping in the comfort

of being whole

even while the apnea

left me oxygen starved and cold

I remember

the empty space that never filled

I spoke with God and its empty still

you were the home that kept me

you were the home that promised time

and I am left with a beautiful ghost

and a home that isn't mine....

I remember snow

last Christmas

but they've cleared the trees and sterilized the road

you rise out of the beautiful field

an eye sore

but you give more than you take

though there's nothing left in your wake

my son saw a bobcat with cubs the other day

even while all the trees and deeper forests were whisked away

In disgust I watch as you give more than you take

while I was only hoping that the back roads

the landscape might keep

another day....